


a cry for help (is often silent)

by Imiaslavie



Series: once I truly have you (I won't let you go) [Roceit + platonic Loroceit AU] [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (although comfort hurts too), (but it's necessary), Angst, Character Study, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Post Episode: Selfishness vs. Selflessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-08 11:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18622426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imiaslavie/pseuds/Imiaslavie
Summary: There was another sort of rage inside of him. Quieter. More poignant and cold. Coiling right in his stomach.Those smiles Patton and Virgil gave to Roman. Those full of pride smiles.They made Deceit want to scream.





	a cry for help (is often silent)

**Author's Note:**

> It seems I needed to vent some more about the episode. I just can't let go of it. It makes me angry. So, I let Deceit speak for me.
> 
> The story deals with hopelessness, fear and denial. But also - with accepting and making the first step on the path to healing. There's some crying. But also - the beginnings of a smile.
> 
> Not beta-ed.

Temper is Deceit's greatest folly. 

Of course, no one would agree with this statement. The common sentiment is that Deceit _as a whole_ is a walking mistake, full of follies, faults and other less-than-savory stuff. But in his own eyes, his inability to stay collected when presented with something that makes his blood boil... Blatant blindness, stubbornness, ineptitude - this is the source of his failures. Nothing makes Deceit's skin crawl more than people refusing to admit the obvious, especially when the obvious is dissected into the tiniest pieces, bright and clear enough that even the blindest of the fools would be able to see the true meaning.

Turns out, the mighty four of the Mindscape are not only blind but deaf as well. 

Deceit lets out a shaky breath, rolls his shoulders in slow motions, forcing the tension out of his body. He clears his mind, concentrating on his breathing, trying to reach the calmness. But as soon as his thoughts return to the complete and utter disaster of the post-trial talk, anger fills his chest again, making him clench his teeth. 

It's his own fault, he knows that. The second he raised his voice, he lost. He tried so hard to stay calm, but the sheer absurdity of the situation, the sheer level of denial, of ignorance... It was stronger than him. 

And also... 

There was another sort of rage inside of him. Quieter. More poignant and cold. Coiling right in his stomach. 

Those smiles Patton and Virgil gave to Roman. Those full of pride smiles. They made Deceit want to _scream_. 

Pride. No remorse. No pity. No understanding. No empathy for the pain Roman was feeling. Those two idiots were so caught up in the sweet taste of victory, so blinded by the grandness of Roman's gesture... they didn't stop even for a second to genuinely address Roman's real feelings. 

Patton, a liar so skilful he's been fooling everyone for ages by hiding his real feelings, believing Roman's smile, believing his facade even though it was so close to cracking. Virgil, whose sole purpose today was opposing Deceit in anything and everything, who looked absolutely crushed when he had to agree with him that one time, feeling gleeful at the fact that Roman had finally opposed Deceit too. 

No one cared about the cost. 

Did everyone think that Thomas' offhanded remark is enough? It wasn't even an apology, and if anyone deserved one, it's Roman. Deceit, of course, couldn't see his face, he'd already sunk out at the moment, but he stayed around to listen, and Roman sounded crushed. He couldn't even master his usual flamboyancy to cover it up, although he tried, boy, did he try. 

Thomas said that Deceit won. 

Lie. 

Nobody won but Patton. 

Virgil has neither won nor lost because he was nothing but a spectator, hating from the sidelines. 

Deceit lost because he failed to prove his point. Thomas lost because he will end up being miserable at the wedding. Roman lost because his dream was shuttered. 

Shuttered, beaten, its dust danced upon - all while Roman had to look at it happening and force a smile on his face. 

It's not something Deceit can fix right now, no matter how much he desires to. He has no means, even though everything in him screams to fix it. It's his sworn duty: protect Thomas from everything. And protecting Thomas means protecting his Sides. From the world. From each other. From themselves. 

Deceit reaches under his cloak and rubs the tips of his fingers over the logo, feeling the texture, finding the shape of two heads. 

He inhales. He concentrates and tugs at the space, at the air and dust particles - and exhales into the darkness of Roman's room. 

“Didn't think I'll see you again so soon.”

Oh, there's a ton of smart remarks to respond with to this statement-that-is-actually-a-question. But Deceit won't use one of them. Not today. Not with how tired and humorless Roman's words are. 

Deceit's gaze sweeps over the room, a huge space with ridiculously high ceilings and creamy-white walls, the window open wide and framed with curtains of deep-red-wine color that shimmers with nacre rainbows when the sun hits it. But there's no sun. Twilight reigns beyond the window, the sky so dark you almost can't see the real color. _Every_ color is desaturated. 

There's a sound of steps behind him, the boots shuffling just a little bit on the ground. 

“What a gloomy view.” Roman comes to stand by his right side. “Not fitting to have a guest at all.” 

It would be so easy to pick at Roman's words. To engage at banter. But it would do no good. A temporary relief that will leave place for dread the second the conversation dies down. 

“Why are you here?”

Deceit knows fairly well the _why_ s of him being here. What he doesn't know is how to make his reasons be heard. How to be heard at all. How to make Roman truly accept at least one single word that will come out of his mouth. 

Seconds tick away. Roman doesn't tell him to leave. He just bears his presence silently, a mere foot between them. If this silence isn't the brightest sign of how defeated and miserable Roman is, then what is? 

A strike of lightning goes off in the distance, a tiny broken line of white. The thunder reaches them fast, and its power shakes the very room. 

“I'm scared.”

The confession falling from Roman's lips is barely a whisper. But Deceit swears it's louder than the thunder. 

“I’m scared that the next time an opportunity like that comes again... it will be taken from me again. I can’t... can’t stop thinking about it. I...” Roman comes forward, trails his fingers over the windowsill. “These rooms, they've seen each and every fantasy of mine. Wild and crazy and unachievable... the impossible becoming possible in the confines of my mind.” He takes a shaky breath. “It's a wall.” He taps his temple with his pointer finger. “Right there in my head. No matter how hard I try to imagine a successful future, I am stopped. The fantasy changes, burns, falls apart, leaves me the man I am now, nothing more.” The distance blows up with white. “But it's silly, isn't it? It won't be like that. This fear is irrational. Virgil would have a laugh at me, for stealing his job, little rascal! Although I'm in his good grades now, don't you think? He—” 

“Stop.” 

If this what being listened to is like, then Deceit doesn't want it. Because Roman freezes up, his figure, always so mighty, looking small. 

“It's not about the _future_. You are hurting right _now_.” 

Deceit moves closer, places his hands on the windowsill. The two of them stand even closer than before but still don't look at each other. Deceit: out of politeness. Roman? There are a million reasons. 

“Don't make excuses for them. They hurt you and weren't even sorry for it. I'm not saying it to—" _Make you angry at them? Not true, that would be nice. Make you doubt their love? Definitely not, this is the last thing needed. Make you even more hopeless? Is there even a 'more' now?_ “—simply add salt to your wound. I just want you to accept what happened. It's...” he adds more quietly. “It's okay to feel hurt.”

“And what would be the point?” Roman says in a hoarse voice, almost hissing. “So I could what? Wallow in my misery _consciously_?” 

Deceit sighs softly. “There wouldn't be a point in accepting to simply be sorry for yourself in the solitariness of your room, no. Accept it...” Deceit leans closer. “And talk to them.” 

Roman whips his head, and their gazes meet. The brown of Roman's eyes is dark, all specks of green gone. His eyes are glossy. 

“No!”

He breathes the word out rather than says it. A memory hits Deceit. Roman, determination on his face, saying he _wouldn't shy away from the fact that he is not okay any longer_. A lie so thick he believed it himself for a moment. Deceit feels the warmth rising in his chest. Oh, Roman, poor little boy... Why do you keep doing this to yourself? 

“Roman,” Deceit says softly. “You are _scared_ to _create_. It's not supposed to be like that. Ever. Stop hiding. Stop pretending. Stand up for yourself.” 

“Deceit...” 

“It's okay to hold your ground against the people you love. They won't hate you, think about you less or leave you.” 

Roman shakes his head, lips shut tight... but it doesn't feel like an outright refusal. Deceit has almost got through him, he feels it, senses it on his tongue, just... just a bit more, something else, something else important, there were so many important things said at the court, like— _Oh_. 

“You are lonely not because they don't need you. You are lonely because you aren't letting them see the real you.” 

The wail of the rain falls from the sky in a span of one heartbeat. The clean scent of it, the cacophony of sounds, the way it reaches into the window and mercilessly attacks Deceit's glove, making it soaking wet in no time, its ferocity and promise to last forever... 

Roman’s crying feels more powerful than all of this. 

He wallows and sobs and hiccups, hiding his eyes behind his arm like a child. He's such an ugly crier... 

Such an honest one. 

It's a weird mix of satisfaction and hatred, watching Roman cry his soul out. Right now, it's a good thing, yes... But it never should've come to that. Deceit wraps his arms around himself, the cold water seeping from the glove onto his cloak. 

The sobbing becomes softer, giving Roman a chance to fill his lungs with air. His arm is still thrown over his eyes. Deceit sighs, his clever eyes watching the first patches of light grey in the sky. He's played a dangerous game just right now. But maybe... maybe he can go for one more risk. 

With a soft sound, a bowl with icy cold clean water appears on the windowsill, a piece of cloth near it. After a moment of consideration, Deceit takes off his gloves. He reaches out and very, very carefully wraps his fingers around Roman's wrist. Roman inhales sharply but doesn't flinch. Just as carefully, Deceit pulls at Roman's arm, pushes it down inch by inch until it rests over his chest. 

Roman, his brave, courageous Roman, looks him right into the eyes. 

Deceit's other hand wets the piece of cloth with water, brings it up and brushes over Roman's cheek, wiping away the drying out tears. Roman's eyelashes flutter, and he closes his eyes. Deceit keeps wiping the tears from the skin with careful motions; the cloth is so cold it makes his fingers numb but it must feel great against the heat of Roman's face. In a bold move, Deceit touches Roman's forehead with the back of his head, checking the temperature. 

“Logan.” 

Deceit's hand stills for a second before backing away completely. Logan. Yes. There's no need to ask what it means. There's no need to ask for the reasoning behind this choice or argue against it. 

His other hand slides down Roman's wrist to take him by the hand. Roman's eyes fly open in surprise. Deceit doesn't let him stop to ask questions. He pulls at the air - and their feet hit the floor of the west corridor that leads to the left brain Sides' rooms. 

Roman follows him without questions, clutching his hand. Deceit's lips curls in distaste for a second when they pass by the turn that would lead them to Virgil's room. At last, they stop in front of the plain dark-blue door. Huh... look at that. Deceit's other hand traces the thin white lines of a constellation, a tiny etching near the door handle. Not that plain anymore. 

In one fluid motion, Deceit positions Roman in front of the door. Their joined hands come to rest over the center of the door. As Deceit's hand slips away, Roman's fingers curl into a loose fist. 

This is it. 

Deceit's done all that he could. Or, at the very least, all that he's allowed to. The rest lies on Roman's shoulders. 

They are, after all, very strong. 

Deceit makes a move to turn, he fully intends to start his way back down the corridor, but... Something makes him stand still. Some barely formed... desire? Wish? Hope? 

The minutes trickle by. He knows he should leave, his work is done, he doesn't even actually deserve to be a witness to this, he shouldn't just stand here, ghosting behind Roman's back, he— 

“Deceit.”

A slight pause. And Deceit can swear on _anything_ he sees the corner of Roman's mouth quirk. 

“Thank you.” 

Roman knocks.

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a build-up for Roceit? Quite possibly. Mostly, I just wanted Roman to be loved, with any kind of love.


End file.
